The Night Before
by Mar Komi
Summary: It's the night before Christmas and Jayne is having spiritual problems. Literally. - A somewhat silly three-parter to celebrate the holidays. Could be read as a part of my Eagle series.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **Hope you're all having a fabulous Christmas :) This story's my little present to you. It takes place post-BDM (the first of my stories that does, actually), but Wash and Book is still in it._

_Confusing?_

_It's meant to be._

* * *

><p><strong>The Night Before<strong>

Jayne was pretty sure Stitch Hessian was dead.

He knew this because he was the one who'd killed him. He'd smashed his head in against a rock back in Canton and washed his blood off his hands, and he hadn't ever regretted it. And yet, now as he stepped into _Serenity'_s galley looking for a snack, he found that ruttin', good-for-nothin' low-life of a scumbag sitting on the kitchen counter, looking very much alive and peering at him with his one good eye.

"There you are," he snarled. "You took your sweet time. Haven't got the whole night, gorram it!"

Jayne just looked at him, dumbfounded, for a few seconds and for some reason he felt more annoyed than afraid upon seeing his deceased ex-partner. By God, couldn't people even stay dead these days?

"What the hell?" he eventually exclaimed.

Stitch looked fairly relaxed, maybe even a little bored. "I'm here with a warning," he said. "And I dunno why the hell I'm helpin' ya – seeing as you _killed me_ – so don't even ask!"

"So you _are_ dead?" Jayne pried.

"Yes, you idjit! You can't just step unto a ship in the middle of _space_ if you're alive and kickin'!"

"Figures," Jayne agreed. "So… that mean I can't kill you again?"

Stitch glared impatiently at him. "You want this warning or not?"

"Not," Jayne said and continued on his way towards the cupboards.

"Well, you don't got no choice," Stitch said, jumping down from the counter and blocking his way. "So listen up, you _qingwa cao de liumang_. Tonight you'll be visited by three spirits."

Jayne scowled at him, his irritation growing by the second. "What's this? You scroogin' me?"

Stitch cocked an eyebrow. "Well, well, the man knows his Dickens."

"Chickens."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure the man's name was Chickens."

A moment of silence fell between them as Stitch kept his eyes on him, disbelievingly, before he finally spoke. "No, it's not!"

Jayne shrugged. "Whatever."

"Well, anyways," Stitch continued, "three spirits will come, listen to them, heed their warning, yadi-yadi-ya. I've _done_ my part – goodbye and see you in hell!"

And by that he disappeared into thin air.

"Yeah, goodbye," Jayne muttered. "Ain't like you were real, anyhow. Had a little too much to drink last night, I'm guessin'."

He opened the cupboards in his continued search for food, but just then the grandfather clock in the corner chimed.

He frowned. Weird… Since when did they have a grandfather clock?

Then he heard someone giggling and he cursed under his breath, because he knew who it was and he was _not_ in the mood for her right now.

As if he ever were…

He spun around to face her, but to his surprise she wasn't there. His eyes scanned the room. "Where you hidin', you freak?" he asked.

"No freak here," she replied. But he still couldn't see her.

"Come on out!"

"I _am_ out. I'm right here. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"Well, you sound like River!"

She giggled again. "Interesting."

"What is?" he spat.

"That you had me take her shape."

"Had you take…? What the hell you talkin' about? Show yourself, girl! Where you at?"

"I said, I'm here."

He cursed again. "You're on the PA, I'm sure, messin' with me. I'm gonna get you, you hear?"

Still mumbling he stomped out of the galley, headed for the bridge, but just as he stepped out into the hallway he stopped dead in his tracks.

Because what he found on the other side of the hatch, was the cargo bay.

And it wasn't supposed to be there.

And it wasn't even the right cargo bay.

"This is not _Serenity,_" the voice of River/The Ghost of Christmas Past said, as if Jayne couldn't see that for himself. This cargo bay was darker, and smellier, and colder – in more ways than one.

"You know this ship," the voice continued. "You used to live on it. And these men used to be your crewmates."

He saw the men now; sitting in groups around the room, playing cards and throwing dices and drinking and yelling and laughing loudly. And he _did_ know them. This was Marco's ship, and here were Rufus and Buster and Ping and all those others sons of bitches he'd hoped to never lay eyes on again.

"They can't see you," River said (he was pretty sure it was River, wherever that girl was hiding). "This is only a memory and they are nothing but shadows."

"Yeah," he snarled. "Mirrors and smoke… and _where are you?_" He had no idea how she'd pulled off this trick, but she was surely going to pay for it.

"Where are _you_?" her voice calmly replied.

"I'm right here," he said, gritting his teeth.

"I mean, where are you in this memory?"

"Dunno," he muttered. "As far away from these people as I could possibly get, I'm guessin'."

"Spending Christmas alone," she stated. "You made a habit of it. Because you still do."

He was getting tired of this. He turned around to find that moonbrain once and for all and give her a piece of his…

A cold realization suddenly hit him. "You're inside my head, aren't you?" he yelled.

She laughed, and her laughter echoed throughout the room. "Of course I am, stupid. Why else would I know all this?"

"Well, get out of it! Right now!" He frantically spun around, waving his arms around as if that would help. "Leave me alone, you freak! Go away!" –

And suddenly he was back in the galley and all was quiet. He was breathing hard, as if he'd been running, but other than that it seemed like nothing at all had happened. He was still on his way to open the cupboard.

"Well," he muttered. "Thank you."

And then the clock chimed again.

"Gorramit!" he exclaimed. "When _did _that thing get onboard?"

"Well, I think it looks shiny in here, don't you?" someone said.

Jayne froze. He could have recognized that voice anywhere. But it was impossible… It couldn't be…

He turned around.

"Wash?"

It was Wash, alright. Sitting on the kitchen table, grinning and dressed in his most brightly colored shirt. As if he had never died. As if the Reavers had never gotten to him.

"Come in and know me better, man," he smiled. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

Jayne stared. "But… you're dead."

"Duh-uh, _ghost!_" Wash exclaimed, waving his hands around. "Hasn't anyone ever explained the concept to you?"

Jayne grunted and peered at the pilot, or ex-pilot or whatever you called a dead pilot, still a little suspicious. "Zoë's havin' your baby," he said.

For a moment Wash's bright grin faltered a little. "I know," he said. "And it's killing me that I won't be around for it. Well, it can't _kill _me since I'm already dead, but… You know what I mean." He shook the sadness away from his features. "Anyway, tonight's not about me, it's about you. And I've got things to show you."

"Like what?" Jayne asked, then coughed. There was something stuck in his chest.

"Well, touch my robe," Wash said. "Uh, shirt… Or you can just follow me. Come on."

He led the way out into the hallway, and this time it really _was _the hallway waiting on the other side of the door. Jayne opened his mouth to ask more questions, but before he could, Wash abruptly stopped, so sudden that Jayne almost walked right into him.

If that was even possible, of course; bumping into a ghost. Jayne wasn't sure.

"Listen," Wash whispered, half turned towards him and with his finger to his lips. "Do you hear?"

"Hear what?"

But just then he heard them; the voices. Mumbling at first, but gradually growing louder. And he looked around to find out where they came from, but he saw nobody.

"There've been times when I've wanted to kill him," the first voice said. "More'n I can count."

Jayne arched an eyebrow as he recognized the voice as the captain's.

"Me too," another voice replied.

Zoë.

Jayne gazed at Wash. "What's this? What are they talkin' 'bout? _Me?_" He narrowed his eyes. "This supposed to be comfortin' or sumthin'? 'Cause they're talkin' 'bout _killing _me, gorramit!"

"Sssh," Wash shushed.

"Could you do it?" Mal's voice asked next.

"No," Zoë replied.

"Me neither."

There was a short moment of silence before Mal spoke again, "Why is that, you think?"

"Beats me," Zoë replied.

After that it was quiet. Jayne sent another glare in Wash's direction. "This don't make no sense," he snarled. "What was _that_ all about?"

Wash shrugged. "That's for _you_ to know."

He started walking again and, cursing, Jayne followed him around the corner and into the cargo bay. This time it _was_ _Serenity'_s, but there was still something utterly wrong about it. Shocked and surprised, Jayne followed the banister down the catwalk and stared at something he had _not _expected to find.

"I'm pretty sure this ain't the way the story's supposed to go," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is Christmas _Present_?" Jayne asked, bewildered. "'Cause I don' remember our Christmas tree bein' this big. And I _certainly _don' recall the reindeers."

He was referring to the gianourmous decorated evergreen erected in the cargo bay, the star at the top almost scraping the ceiling, and the eight antlered animals flying – yes, _flying _– around it.

Wash only grinned. "My, my, I'd say Mal's been spending hard this year."

Jayne grunted. Wash should know better. Mal had _not _paid for this, for sure! He reached the staircase and started making his way down to the lower level while he studied the tree a little closer. It looked like one of those trees you saw on Christmas cards, perfectly even and perfectly decorated with shiny ornaments and such, and not at all like the little, crooked thing Kaylee begged Mal into bringing onboard every year.

There was even a huge pile of presents stacked underneath, and while he was still admiring the sight, he heard another well-known voice.

Kaylee.

He saw her now. She was standing in front of the tree, looking upwards at the flying reindeer, shaking a big bucket of grain. "Come, Comet!" she called. "Come, Blixen! Come, Something! And Something and Something and Something."

And they came. They landed gracefully at the deck and flocked around her, and she reached out the bucket and let them eat, a big smile on her face.

Jayne observed the scene from a distance. He didn't know whether she could see him or not, but nevertheless he didn't want to spoil the moment. He liked seeing her like this; so happy and innocent and perfectly sheltered from all the bad things in the 'verse.

Including himself.

"Here's Kaylee," Wash needlessly pointed out. He'd followed Jayne downstairs and had come to a rest a small step behind him. Kaylee didn't react to his voice, so Jayne came to the conclusion that she too was some sort of shadow or whatever. "She always sees the good in people. We're lucky to have her."

"Yeah," Jayne mumbled. "She's alright."

He coughed again. That thing in his chest was still there.

A sound from behind made him turn around. At first he saw nothing, but then suddenly he spotted something red and white moving about under the tree.

He squinted and moved a little closer. Santa?

No. Not Santa.

In a 'verse where paper was rare and old-fashioned books were a luxury mostly reserved for rich people, only two had ever found their way to the shelves in the Cobb home. The first was the old family Bible, the other had been a ragged copy of a Dr. Seuss classic that Jayne's mother had read to him and his siblings every Christmas.

And so Jayne recognized the Grinch when he saw it.

Only, there was something different about this particular Grinch.

It was green and furry, alright, and eagerly filling its bag with gifts and candy, but it vaguely reminded him of someone else as well. And just as he was about to ask Wash to help him identify exactly who that was, Jayne found out on his own.

The Grinch looked like Adelai Niska.

Which was the first thing that evening that made sense to him. Of course Niska would be the Grinch, coldhearted, double-crossing and full of himself as he was. And now he was stealing all of Kaylee's presents, and Jayne would simply not have it! He reached for his gun, only to find that it wasn't strapped on, and so he looked around for something else instead.

But then he started coughing again, and now that thing in his chest seemed to have grown bigger and it was getting harder to push air past it. He doubled over, trying to put a little more force behind the cough, and he sensed someone move next to him and a bowl was held out in front of his mouth, ready to catch whatever came up. He thought it was Wash and he wanted to warn him about Niska, but when he looked up, he found Simon there instead.

The doctor, dressed in his very best, had arrived out of nowhere and Jayne wanted to ask him how, but he couldn't speak now, only cough and gag. Simon was looking intently at the bowl he was holding. "There you go," he calmly admonished. "Easy does it."

Jayne's vision was swimming by the time he finally managed to rid himself of the problem and something spluttered from his mouth and down into the bowl. He stared at it, surprised. It was yellowish and… glittering?

"Is it gold?" he asked in awe.

"No, Jayne, of course it's not gold," the doctor replied, quietly and patiently.

But it _was _gold, Jayne was sure of it. And now the doctor was taking it all for himself and even wiped Jayne's chin with a cloth to make sure he got everything. Greedy bastard!

Jayne was about to protest more loudly, but then he remembered Niska and he turned around to see if that nasty old man was still around, only to find his path blocked by one of the reindeer.

He scowled at it. He'd learned never to trust animals (something that came naturally when you grew up among the wild dogs of Paquin) and so he kept it under close observation as he tried to figure out a way to chase it off.

This new train of thoughts was interrupted by someone calling his name. "Jayne?"

"Mal?" he called back, because again he recognized the voice, but just like before the captain was nowhere to be seen. He only saw the tree and Simon… no, wait, Simon was gone.

And so was Wash. And Kaylee.

"Jayne?" Mal said again, more forcefully this time.

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

"Where?" Jayne was getting a little irritated.

"Right in front of you."

But the only thing in front of him was the reindeer and Jayne was about to tell Mal that, when he suddenly saw the look in the animal's eyes and came to a horrifying conclusion. "Uh, Cap?" he said.

"Yes," the reindeer replied.

Jayne stared. And stared. And just kept staring.

"Jayne?" the reindeer probed.

"You're a reindeer!" Jayne exclaimed.

"I'm a _what_?"

"A reindeer."

"Jayne, you're talking nonsense," the captain/the reindeer said, though rather kindly and not accusing.

Jayne suddenly remembered Niska. "The Grinch!" he shouted. "We have to stop the Grinch."

"O-kay," the reindeer/Mal slowly replied.

"It's Niska!" Jayne added helpfully.

"Niska?"

"Yes, it's Niska."

"What is?"

"The Grinch, gorramit!"

"Okay, okay, calm down."

"Gotta stop him. Where's my gun?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! No gun, no shootin', not now."

"He's stealin' Christmas! The presents…. He's takin' Kaylee's presents."

"Jayne!" Mal's voice was one of authority, even coming out of a reindeer's mouth, and for some reason, perhaps out of old habit, Jayne obediently shut his mouth and waited for his captain's instructions. "Shut up."

Apparently there was more gold in his chest, because now he started choking and coughing again and this time it was harder than ever.

He suddenly couldn't breathe. Which wasn't that hard to understand, seeing as he was lying on the floor and Mal the Reindeer was standing atop of him. "Come on, Jayne," he shouted down into his face. "Cough like you mean it."

And he would have, if only that stupid animal would move away from his chest. But he had no voice left to tell him that.

Darkness.

Water.

Water?

He opened his eyes.

He was still on the floor, but stripped of his shirt, and sitting on her knees next to him, was Inara. With slow, graceful movements she twisted the water out of a sponge before gently running it along the skin of his arm.

"'Nara?" he whispered.

Her gaze met his. "Hello."

And now he knew for certain that this was all a dream, and he even said it out loud. "I'm dreamin'."

She smiled. "Actually, you're not."

He frowned. "You really _are_ givin' me a bath?"

"Nobody else seems to have the mind to give you one." Her voice was soft and mild. "And you should be clean for Christmas."

He watched her lips as she spoke, ruby-red and so very, very beautiful, and then shifted his gaze to a part of her body a little _below_ that. And then he thought he might as well give it a shot, or maybe he didn't think at all, but nevertheless he reached out to touch her breasts.

She stopped his hand, gently but firmly. "_Now _you are dreaming," she said.

And then she was gone –

And Jayne found himself back in the galley once more, and the room was exactly like before, the grandfather clock included.

He felt his anger rise. "Well, thanks for _nothing, _Wash!" he shouted. "It made no sense, none of it. Where are you, gorramit? Come on out and explain it to me, little man!"

But the room, and the ship, and the ghost (if he was still there) stayed quiet.

"It don' make no sense," Jayne muttered.

The clock chimed.

"Fine!" Jayne threw his arms out. "Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, I'm ready for ya. Bring it on!"

And even as he said it, he sensed movement in the darkest corner of the room and he spun around to squint at the figure stepping out of the shadows and into the light. His heart sank as he recognized the face, but even as it did so it also leaped a little.

"Hello, Jayne," Shepherd Book said.


	3. Chapter 3

For a long beat they just stood there looking at each other, the mercenary and the preacher, and then Jayne cleared his throat. "_You're _the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?"

Book smiled. "I'm not gonna show you your future, Jayne."

Jayne frowned. "Why not? Isn't that kinda your job?"

Book shook his head, still smiling. "I believe we choose our own destinies, son, and as such the future's not something carved in stone. It's what we make it."

He stepped closer and Jayne almost unconsciously took a step back, making sure that the distance between them remained the same. "So," the shepherd continued, steepling his fingers together, "let's look at it this way: What do _you _think your future looks like?"

Jayne shrugged. "Dunno. More of the same?"

Book nodded. "And are you still on _Serenity_?"

"I guess."

"Why?"

Jayne contracted his eyebrows. "Whatchu mean '_why_'?"

"Well." Book dragged it out before answering. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're not a very likable person."

"Oh, thank you very much," Jayne sarcastically spat back. "Is there a _right_ way to take that?"

"You're rude," Book continued, "you lie, and you cheat, you never say 'please' or 'thank you', and you complain. A lot."

"Can we get this over with?" Jayne muttered.

"And yet, despite of all this, they still haven't thrown you off the boat," the preacher pointed out. "Why is that, you think?"

Jayne straightened. "'Cause I'm a good tracker," he replied, not without a certain pride in his voice. "And a damn good shot."

"There are other snipers," Book retorted. "Other trackers. Not many as good as you, I'll give you that, but they're there. You're not irreplaceable, you know. As far as the weight you pull on this ship goes."

"Why are you talkin' to me like this?" Jayne shouted. "Don't tell me this shit!"

But the preacher was unstoppable. "Has it ever occurred to you that it might be they actually _like _you? Despite the fact that you're an ass."

With a scoff Jayne turned away from him.

"I know _I _like you," Book probed. "God knows why, but I do."

Jayne still didn't say anything, but in the corner of his eye he could see the preacher's smile widen before he concluded, "I'm gonna go on a whim here and say that you don't like being liked particularly much."

He pulled out a chair and sat down. Jayne arched an eyebrow. Apparently ghosts could pull out chairs and sit.

"But let's look at it from the other angle," the shepherd kept going. "Why do you stay?"

"Huh?"

"This boat is not a prison. You don't _have _to stay. You can leave whenever you want to, like _I_ did. So why don't you?"

Jayne snorted. "It's how I earn my coin."

"You could've earned more. Mal's giving you a generous slice of the cake, absolutely, but the cake's not that big. And there's jobs he simply won't take, and those are the jobs that pays off the most, I think you know. Other captains would take 'em in a heartbeat. So why is it you stay here with this one?"

"Ain't none of your business."

Book tilted his head to the side in that teasing manner of his. "Aw, you can tell me."

"Don't wanna."

"So there _is _a reason? And you know what it is?"

"Shut up."

"By all means." Book leaned back in the chair. "I've got all night."

Jayne glared at him, slowly realizing the man, or ghost or whatever, wouldn't leave him alone until he'd answered his question. He cursed. "'Cause he's fair, okay!" he snarled.

Book smiled again.

Jayne narrowed his eyes and stabbed the air with his finger. "You better not tell 'im!"

Book threw his arms out. "Dead men tell no tales."

"He's fair," Jayne repeated, and it was easier to say it than he'd expected. "And he values me. Zoë's respectful to me, hell, even 'Nara is. And Kaylee's kind to me, and the Tams are… there." He was no longer able to look at the shepherd and stared intently at his fingers. "Now, Marco and Rufus and Stitch, they made me what I am. But on this boat, with this crew, I feel human."

"A good answer," Book said. "Even an honest one."

"Are we done now?"

"That eager to get rid of me?"

"Sorry." He dared risking a glance in the preacher's direction. Book had leaned forward and was resting his arms on his knees.

"You know what night it is?" he asked.

"'Course I do, it's Christmas Eve," Jayne replied.

"That's right. And somewhere, in the dark and the cold, a woman's searching for a safe place to give birth to her baby boy."

"Zoë's havin' a girl," Jayne protested before he'd taken the time to think.

Book chuckled. "Not Zoë. Another mother and another baby. A long, long time ago."

"Ah," Jayne muttered, realizing his mistake, "Jesus."

"Yes," the older man smiled, "the Messiah. See, Jayne, that's what this night is about. Birth… second chances… redemption. Those are the true gifts of Christmas."

"Jayne?" a voice rang out. It sounded like it came from outside the door, and Jayne turned his head towards it, musing.

"It's Zoë," Book said. "She's been calling for you a while now."

She had? "Huh, I didn't hear," he muttered.

He started walking towards the door and before he was halfway across the floor, it opened and Zoë stepped inside. There was a bright light behind her and it was difficult to look directly at her. "Jayne?" she said again. "Who you talkin' to?"

"Book," he said, and for some reason she didn't seem to find that strange.

"Good chat?" she asked.

He looked at her belly. She was quite visibly pregnant now. "You're havin' a baby," he said, mostly to himself because saying things out loud made them easier to hold on to. They were beginning to slip.

"I am," she said.

"It ain't Jesus."

A small laugh escaped her lips. "No, Jayne, it ain't Jesus. It's a girl, remember?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Book said. He made sense. Wash didn't. I think… Oh." He blinked hard. It was getting hard to concentrate. "There was a tree… And Kaylee's presents… And it's all… so… very… confusing. Zoë?"

She cupped his right cheek with her hand. "Then let go of it," she said.

"Huh?"

"Let it go," she repeated. "Ain't no need for worryin', we're all safe. You can rest now."

"But Kaylee's presents are bein' stole!" he protested, because he suddenly remembered.

"Ain't nobody stealin' Kaylee's presents," Zoë calmly assured him. "I ain't gonna let 'em. Get some sleep, okay? You done good."

He felt his shoulders slump, and he glanced around the room. Book was gone.

But Zoë was here.

And sleep…

sounded…

good.

* * *

><p>Zoë kept her hand on Jayne's cheek until his breathing had slowed and she knew he was asleep. Then she let go and leaned back in the chair, squeezing his arm a little as she withdrew her hand.<p>

The sound of the hatch overhead being opened made her cast a glance upwards to see Simon climbing down the ladder, followed by the captain.

"How's it going?" the doctor asked, studying the patient as he spoke.

"He's sleeping now," she said. "But he still talks a lot. Keeps talking to Book about how my baby ain't Jesus." Her hand unconsciously moved to her swollen belly.

Mal chuckled. "At least it sounds like he knows it's Christmas. He was goin' on and on about the Grinch when I was down here before."

"Lucky you," Simon dryly remarked as he readied the thermometer he'd brought. "I only got the phlegm he thought was gold."

This time Zoë laughed too, but then she and Mal quietly watched Simon take Jayne's temperature, remembering the seriousness of the situation.

It had started as a cold, that after a long trek through the snow wearing nothing but a t-shirt (long story), had developed into a wheezing chest, violent coughing fits and a raging fever. Simon had diagnosed him with double-sided pneumonia, and for two days now Jayne had been lying in his bunk, lost in delirium and talking nonsense. Simon had made no attempt to hide the fact that the merc's condition worried him, and so everybody had taken their turn sitting by his bedside.

"A hundred and three," Simon declared after reading off the thermometer. "Still very high."

"He seems to be doin' a little better, though," Zoë said. "He's breathin' easier."

With Mal's help Simon was able to heave Jayne over on his side, facing the wall, and then the doctor put on his stethoscope, rubbing it against his shirt to heat it before listening to the big man's lungs.

"Yes," he eventually said, pulling the instruments from his ears, "it's clearing up." He got Jayne settled again and even offered a little smile, before turning towards Zoë. "I'll take over now, if you want."

"Nah, it's alright," Zoë insisted.

"Are you sure? You're missing out on all the festivities."

"Yup," Mal nodded. "Kaylee's actually managed to get the eggnog tastin' like real egg this year. And it ain't spiked, so you can have some." Judging by his uncharacteristically good mood, he'd spiked his own, though.

Zoë smiled. "I've got this. You go and enjoy yourselves."

"Okay," Simon returned the smile. "Just don't wear yourself out."

"I won't," she promised.

The boys headed up the ladder again, and Zoë caught the sound of the girls laughing in the kitchen before the hatch closed behind them. She switched her attention to Jayne, but he didn't look like he needed her at the moment, and so she settled back in her chair, contemplating the real reason why she wanted to stay right where she was.

A few times while she'd been sitting there, Jayne had spoken to Wash as if her late husband was really there, and even though she knew it was just the fever, she honestly could think of no better way to spend Christmas Eve.

_fin_


End file.
